


When The Stars Align

by beabadoobea



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: (the rape mentions are kept brief i promise), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amalthea is basically the last unicorn I'm sorry I don't choose the inspiration, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, I hope I did the tags right oh god, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn, This is literally my first fanwork please forgive me...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28575525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beabadoobea/pseuds/beabadoobea
Summary: Something's amok in the forests and streets of Vesuvia, all the while the widowed Countess remains in a deep and unshakable slumber as her country struggles to recover from the rule of her former husband as well as a savage plague that ripped through the homes of citizens.Amongst all the mess, there is an apprentice, tucked away in a shop sound asleep alongside her mentor, with no memory of who she was three years ago. And in the dim light of an alleyway, a vagabond lays staring awake at the stars among little trinkets strewn about his hidden cove, wondering what happened for him to end up in a place like this when he was so sure he had something before, but he can't figure out what.
Relationships: Asra/Julian Devorak, Muriel (The Arcana)/Original Male Character(s), Nadia (The Arcana)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm just going to preface this with this is my first work on this website. I would really appreciate any constructive criticism, but more importantly, I hope you enjoy what I've made. I'll also just go right out the bat and say that yes, Amalthea is basically the Amalthea from The Last Unicorn, but with some tweaks made, so hopefully that at least counts as something, I've tried making her a separate character while still paying homage to one of my favorite movies of all time. Lemme know if I need to slow down the pacing. I also haven't played all the routes yet, so I hope you'll bear with me in case there's something that doesn't match up with the canon lore, as I'm kinda making my own deal of it in a way? I've changed some scenarios around to better fit the story I'm trying to tell with my characters, so please forgive me if something is a little off. Let me know what you think of it and (most importantly) enjoy the show!

Amalthea woke with a start, a deep chill gripping her chest and spreading through her body as she frantically looked around for Asra. She could still feel the thorns wrapped around her arms and legs as the gentle breathing of her mentor slowly brought her back to the waking world. Quietly, she sat herself up in bed, tucking her knees beneath her chin and wrapping her slender arms around her legs. She stared intensely at the wood floor, peering over the side of the bed. 

"Amalthea?"

The tired, croaky voice of Asra called out from underneath the covers, a hand reaching out to pat around the space she usually inhabited at night. Upon finding nothing but empty space, the magician propped himself up to get a better look around the room. 

A hunched over silhouette stood out against the light of the yellow street lamps that flooded in from the window. Pale, fine hands ran through silver hair in the dark. 

"Amalthea?" he called out again, this time eliciting a response.

"I'm here,"

Asra sighed. "Another bad dream?" 

The silhouette nodded. "It was the vines, again. Nothing terrible."

"You're not sleeping well, Thea. It's at least a little bit bad."

She hummed, not agreeing but not outright contradicting his statement. Asra watched as she selected a strand of hair and began to nervously twist it through her fingers. 

It used to be she'd wake up screaming every night. Slowly, as the years passed on, those occasions had luckily become more and more rare, however the dreams never seemed to go with them. Sometimes she'd claim she had none at all. Those were the days she seemed the brightest, almost like how she used to be before... But it was different now. This was the new normal, it was best to accept that and try not to reminisce. It wasn't like Amalthea would be able to anytime soon. 

Asra glanced at the small clock that sat among the clutter of his bedside table, where Faust had managed to curl herself around a pin cushion that had been repurposed as a mini pillow. 

"It's nearly morning, do you want some tea?" he asked, breaking the heavy silence. 

"Sure," Amalthea's soft, breathy voice replied, as the grueling and slow beginning of their day began.

\----

The rickety, wooden floorboards above him strained and groaned as the shouts of his neighbors rattled the little oil lamp by his bed. The light had long since died, the reserve of fuel having run out, leaving Etoille in the dark, surrounded by others less fortunate like him, but alone. And _very_ cold. The tenements were all the same; poorly built and poorly cared for by the owners, letting the freezing tendrils of the early spring night to creep in alongside the crimson vines that tangled themselves around the city in the dark; a remnant of a past tragedy that still hung over the rooftops like a curse. No one was sick anymore, luckily, as far as Etoille knew. 

The thin coverings that wrapped around his sinewy body did practically nothing to help preserve him against the weather. Constantly, he'd crawl into bed still wrapped in his day clothes in an attempt to stave off the effects of frostbite, while running the old wood stove across the room. It always started out just warm enough, the gentle cracklings of the fire lulling him to sleep along with the sounds of the night. Or, at least the pleasant ones. The caterwauls of stray cats duking it out on the road outside never did much to help him sleep, and nor did the drunken ramblings and cackles of the other tenants or passerby. But nonetheless, the wind and rain always worked their magic to give him some reprieve from the more offensive noises.

He hummed some little diddy to himself absentmindedly as he tucked his blankets around him in vain while the argument upstairs raged on. The cold still gripped him and his body shivered. There would be no more sleep tonight. 

He sat up in a huff, a bit of the night air slipping underneath his covers giving him goosebumps. He grumbled, slipping one arm out into the cold to reach for his chest of belongings, where inside he'd find his extra cloak. If he wasn't resting, he would begin his long journey to the market square. He'd reach it by sunrise, or at least just about sunrise if he hurried.

The cold made him move in curt, quick motions, arms tucked into his cloak, making him walk like some mutant duck. He took the same route he did every other day, carefully avoiding the bad alleys and nastier parts of town, despite already being in it. He'd learned well that there was always someplace worse than where you already were, especially in the slums of Vesuvia. Distant shouts always indicated trouble, and dark corners hid a great variety of things, almost none of it good, the dark red specters of the plague that clung to the more affected parts of town pulsing ominously as if to warn him to stay away. 

But, oh, the streets were colorful. Though the roads were covered in water and filth, the walls were decorated with murals and tapestries that leapt into full view as the light of the sun chased away the jagged stalks that came with the night. People gathered on street corners to hear starving musicians play and dance, stray cats arched their backs in the morning sun and rock doves clustered on the eaves and rooftops. Slowly, the cold crept away from the streets and homes of Vesuvia and returned to the murky depths of the flooded roadways. 

Now he was smiling. He had reached the better part of the city, and so took down his hood, letting the sun glint off his coveted gold earrings, bouncing as he went letting the beat up bells around his ankles ring as he made his way down the street. Familiar faces smiled as their hands fiddled and beat drums, and Etoille smiled and nodded in return. The warmth around him had reached his heart, and he felt the growing crowds swell into the market along with him. Today would be a good day. 

\----

The smell of pumpkin bread wafted through the morning air, lifting some of the sleep out of the apprentice's pale colored eyes. Her stomach grumbled at the smell of food, despite having eaten a good amount of toast earlier that morning. Somewhere off in the distance, some beat a tambourine and clapped along with the music. 

"Amalthea," Asra called, sounding a little exasperated. 

Wide-eyed, she snapped back into focus, turning to face him.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I asked if you were still hungry," he repeated, Faust wiggling around, head in the air, as she looked around excitedly. A well-meaning smile spread across his face. "And there's nothing to be sorry for. There's a lot going on here in the mornings."

"Oh, thank you, but I think I'm okay. I can hold off until lunch." she refused, but it was more out of politeness than necessity. And of course, Asra knew.

"Lunch is far away from now." he reminded her, continuing on with the little dance they played with ease. "I'm getting something from the baker's stand, you sure you don't want anything?"

And there it was. The little trap, the reminder that it would be no trouble for him to provide for her, once again. They were friends, after all. She would do the same for him.

"Actually, could you get me a slice of pumpkin bread? I can go pick up the groceries for the week."

"Of course," he smiled, "Be sure to grab some sage too, we're running low."

With a quick nod, she turned and headed for the produce section of the market square, passing dancers and salesmen and women shouting out their wares as loud as possible. There was always a pungent, underlying smell that came with the fruit and vegetable stands. When it was faint, as it was now, it was almost comforting in a way, even though she knew that the smell was likely coming from rotting watermelons and tomatoes and unwashed potatoes. It hung in her head and soothed her as she navigated the moving crowd.

Her boots rapped on the stone path as she perused the stalls, picking up bundles of lettuce and corn and trading them for shiny copper coins. She felt like she had disappeared amongst the crowd, only seen by the market sellers as everyone else scrambled to get their errands over with as soon as possible. Amalthea took her time. Weaving through the droves of busy people and stalls until she had filled her basket with goods, and made her way back to the spot where she and Asra usually met back up. 

"Your bread's almost cooled, I think," he said, noticing her approach. 

She shrugged. "I'll eat it anyways."

Faust waved her way up to Asra's ear, flicking his earlobe with her tongue earning a subdued smile from her master.

"What'd she say?" Thea piped up, Asra batting her little head away from his face as he grinned even wider. She sat down next to him

"She wanted my food." he replied, earning a slight chuckle from Amalthea before 

The two settled against each other as they did every time, quietly eating and people watching as they cooled down from the bustle of the market. Occasionally, one would interject some passing phrase, the ensuing discussion never lasting too long as they'd return to comfortable silence.

"You get the sage?" Asra asked, finishing off the last pieces of a blueberry muffin, the period of quiet coming to and end along with their breakfast.

"Mm-hm," she hummed, shoving the loaf into her mouth and sighing. 

"You've got a pretty big week ahead of you," 

Amalthea raised her eyebrows at her mentor. 

"So... it's a week then? You'll be gone for a week?"

Faust gave a worrying head wobble before hiding her head in the fold of Asra's scarf.

"I mean- four days. Four days." Asra retreated. Amalthea shook her head. 

"Too late- you said it."

"I'll be on time this time, I promise!" he said, raising his hands defensively. The sound of quiet, hissy laughter could be heard from underneath Asra's scarf. 

"Sure you will," Amalthea grinned. "Just like you were the last time. And the time before that one." "I... try," Asra replied feebly, little bits of guilt threatening to settle in his stomach. Amalthea only laughed, giving a reassuring shove as she cast her cream colored hair over her shoulders. "You don't need to worry about me too much," she hummed, calming down from her bout of laughter. "I'm grown. I can deal on my own. You've taught me the ins and outs of the shop." 

Asra smiled, crumpling up the paper wrapping that had contained his muffin, nodding in agreement, though part of him still nagged at him for leaving, as it always did.

' _Muriel will check on her,_ ' he assured himself. ' _She's right, she's grown. I've taught her myself. She's done this before._ '

But the feeling persisted. Just as it always did. Only this time, he voiced it.

"Thea," he began, catching her attention. Her soft white bangs obscured a part of her face as she turned to him. 

"Even if it's just nightmares, y'know, you can still call for me."

"Of course, thank you, master." she replied, drawn aback by his serious tone. 

"You don't need to call me that, Thea," Asra corrected. It never sat well with him. He never felt stronger than her. He never felt he should 'own' her. And yet, the phrase persisted. Old habits die hard, he supposed. 

"Right, sorry..." she hushed, thin fingers raising to her temple to try and soothe the pang of a headache threatening to encroach upon her. Asra chose to stay silent, lest he said something to make it worse, only giving a reassuring pat on the knee to let her know it didn't matter.

They sat there, in silence as the apprentice finished her snack, Faust occasionally breaking up the spans of silence to point out a funny looking market patron or to go between the two, when finally the clock bells rang out across the city, meaning it was time for them to head back. 

"Let's get going, shall we?"


	2. Introductions Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Familiar strangers meet once more, a meeting that was never supposed to happen again. Through the glimmer of fake gold and sound of a lute, the two lock eyes, one to forget the interaction altogether, the other to be haunted until he can manage to send the thoughts away once more. If he can, that is. It isn't everyday you see a dead man dancing in the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks to those of you who decided to check this out! I'm going to make this chapter a lot longer than the other to give more of an insight to the characters and, I don't know, give you guys a bit more to read. Sorry that the last one was so short, lol. I'll try to keep the sizes consistent with the length of this one. Hope you like it!
> 
> (PS I forgot to mention a thank you for my first kudos! Idk, I'm kinda new here so everything's exciting, sorry if this gets annoying)
> 
> (PPS I edited this a bit to clarify some things for Etoille)

Etoille stood behind the little pop-up curtain that had been set up by the band. Just behind him, Rhuded sat crouched, tuning their instrument as they finished their final preparations for their street performance. They'd set up in the Town Square, just off the road that led to the market, and a small crowd had already begun to gather in anticipation. Rhuded, the band's fiddle player, struck a dissonant chord as Etoille tugged at the ribbons tied to his old tambourine. He had the shakes again. 

"Nervous?" the wry voice of Greer, the lutenist, made him startle.

Greer gave a knowing smile as the dancer turned to face him. 

"You think they'll notice?" he asked, jumping straight to the point. 

"No, no I don't think they will, lad," Greer reassured, clapping him good-naturedly on the shoulder. "Do some stretches, take some deep breaths, you'll do as well as you always do."

"Thanks..." Etoille trailed off, not sure if the old man's words really helped. But before he could start again, Greer was already traipsing off, tossing a "Don't mention it!" over his shoulder as he made his way to his wife and her hammered dulcimer. Finally, the fiddler managed to strike a proper note, meaning any time that Etoille would've had to try and prepare himself was pretty much gone. 

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Greer's charismatic voice called out over the Town Square, excited townsfolk began to chatter. Rhuded rose silently from where they were seated and made their way to their spot in the ensemble. 

"Come, come! To see a spectacle of such talent you've never seen before!"

Etoille rolled his eyes, checking over his bits and baubles one last time before he was called out from behind the makeshift stage. 

"Introducing: The Lost Prince!"

\----

_'Flour, all I need is flour, and then I go home.'_

Muriel repeated the phrase over and over again in his head as he carefully and stealthily made his way through alleys and backroads. 

He'd bake bread when he got back, and it'd be ready and warm by the time Asra would be stopping by on his way out of town. Or at least, it should be. But there was no turning back now, he was practically already there. If he did he'd have made himself go through all this trouble for nothing. 

"... The Lost Prince!"

Noise carried over from the Town Square. It was open and full of people; a social nightmare. Muriel tredged onward, passing by from a safe distance as music began to play and the small crowd began cheering. 

He scoffed to himself and kept going. No need for anymore excitement today.

\----

Etoille eased a leg out from behind the partition as the music began to play, drawing a mix of reactions from the crowd. He smiled as he caught view of his target from behind the sheer curtain. 

As his foot hit the ground, a plume of bright, purple smoke erupted in the center of the 'stage', which was really just a space made out on the square where the townsfolk had stepped away to make room for the performers. In a moment, Etoille appeared in a splendorous display, tossing his flowy top skirts up and turning away with a beat of his tambourine. A cacophonous shout took over the audience as Etoille took the tambourine to his hip and began to sway along with the beat that had risen from the crowd. As he drew his hind foot to the front, he cast a small flare of yellow sparks to follow behind.

He picked a face from the crowd, a homely young woman on the edge of the audience, teetering closer and closer. He drew himself into a small pirouette, staring intently into her eyes. Slowly but surely, he sauntered his way over to her corner of the audience before taking his place and continuing his base routine. Happily, he watched as she and others near her drew back in shock. He brushed out a bracelet covered arm, quickly snapping it back to his body as he twirled down the line, making his way through the audience. All the while, his jewelry shone and clashed with light, airy twinkling. 

The music slowly began to build up tempo, telling him to pull away from the crowd and return to his usual spot. Grinning, he skipped, beating his tambourine above his head as little orbs of light appeared surrounding him and the band. The beat of the music helped him concentrate on his illusions, making them dance along with him, helping them to materialize in the back of his mind as he spun and twisted himself in calculated yet improvised motions. The music transported him to a different place, one that was far, far away. Off in a distant field, spinning and swaying beneath the stars, where he was alone. His dance was something shared between him and the heavens. 

The gold ornament that pinned his skirts shimmered it the early afternoon sun, the clouds that were building on the horizon still barely peeking over the rooftops. As he dramatically bowed forwards and backwards, taking a step each time he did, he beat his tambourine against himself to the rhythm of the band. The delicate clinking sound of the dulcimer paired along with the lively strumming of the lute pushed him to go faster and faster, switching to spinning and skipping once more, livening the crowd as the band reached the climax of the song. He desperately began to try and steal himself away and envelope himself into the music.

He dreaded each moment he opened his eyes, forced to see the reality of where and what he was and ripped away from his little world where nothing mattered. He bowed, brown, curly locks falling down in front of his eyes, before raising back up to face the sky. By the sound and pace at which the band was going he could tell that his performance was almost over. He swayed his hips side to side, taking his skirts in one hand to flare it up just to show the little anklets and bells around his feet. A steady clap kept the beat as he danced, spinning and skipping faster and faster until the band reached a crescendo and came to an abrupt stop. Etoille crumpled to the ground, prostrating forwards on his hands and knees. People cheered and threw little silver and copper coins into the arena as Etoille laid there panting. He gave a weak smile, facing the old pavement of the square. 

_'One more song today, and then off again.'_ he sighed to himself.

He sat up, chest heaving, covered in a thin layer of sweat and dust. He sniffed, wiping his face, grinning wide as he turned to look back at Greer and his crew. Standing, he turned to wave back at the crowd as he jogged back to the partition for his break, jingling with each step. 

Greer gave one last announcement, something about being back soon as Etoille took a swig out of a waterskin. 

Rhuded approached, tapping him on the shoulder to draw his attention. 

_'Very good,'_ they signed out, earning a weak smile from the young dancer.

"Thanks," he breathed between gulps. Time felt like it had flown by fast, but it had to have been a two minute song at least. He didn't know, but then again what did it matter? He'd be paid, and he felt almost euphoric. Nothing could take away the high that resulted from his performances, no matter how many times he gave them. 

Peeking out from behind the little curtain, he could see Greer's wife gathering the tips and earnings from the pavement as he thanked the people that still remained, urging them to stick around for the next performance. Etoille tried and failed to recall her name.

'We got good earnings today,' the fiddler pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah we did." Etoille replied. "You heading out to the Rowdy Raven after this?"

'No, you?'

"I think so. I've saved some money, I think I'll treat myself."

Rhuded smiled, brown eyes crinkling as they did. _'Good, you earned it. I think I'll just go home. Been a long week.'_

"Friends!"

The pair broke away from their conversation to face Greer's round, jolly form. His thin white hair was still mussied up from earlier, sticking up in erratic and windswept whisps. 

"Did good today," he said, taking the coin purse from his spouse. "Still got one more to go, but here's your share for the first as always."

A decent stack of coins fell with a relishing "Clink!" into his and Rhuded's palms. Greer continued the same speech as he did everyday, telling them what a good job they did, how they'd someday make it to some big stage, the name of the gig changing each time. Etoille didn't care if they got big and toured, just that he had enough to eat for the night. With the copper and silver pieces combined, he had enough for a pint and a decent meal at the Rowdy Raven, and though there were certainly better places to eat, there he had a chance to reconnect with friends and even earn something extra. He started removing the gold buckle and bells with a sigh. 

"Ettie, hey-" Greer whistled, waving his calloused hand in front of the young man's face. 

"Where're you headed tonight?"

"Oh, uh-" he stammered, "I think I'll just be out on the town tonight, go home after. Why?"

"Oh just wonderin', nothing big. Ylva and I are headed to Gold Grave later and she was asking if you'd come or not."

"Oh, I uh..." Etoille's mind raced. He really didn't want to go along with them, as fun as it sounded. Neither of them knew of his financial or living situation, and, frankly, he wanted to keep it that way. No need for pitying looks or questions of where he'd be sleeping for the night. It was all so embarrassing. "I have plans already. Thank you, though."

"Ah, another time, then." Greer smiled. Etoille let out a subdued sigh at the sign of him letting it go.

"You got about 10 minutes to prepare for the next one, boys-- and fiddler." Ylva called out from the little old orange crate she'd set herself upon. Etoille began his stretches again. 

\----

It took the poor clerk about three times to successfully hand Muriel the bag of flour he'd paid for, since every time she'd turn around she'd forget who it was she was supposed to hand the sack to. 

"Here..." she trailed off, eyeing him up and down suspiciously as Muriel finally took the bag. "Have a good one."

Muriel only nodded before high-tailing it out of the stall, thoroughly stressed out with the interaction alone, not to mention the eyes that followed him as he stalked away. Even though it was almost midday, the morning rush still had yet to really die down. Part of him wished he'd let Inanna tag along so he'd at least have some form of comfort, but the presence of a full-grown wolf in the middle of the city likely would end up drawing more unnecessary attention than he was already getting. 

He managed to lose their attention as he melded in with the outer rings of the market goers, heading for the little alleyway that would lead him around and by the Town Square instead of through it. He was done, now he just had to go home and bake bread and chop some wood. 

_'Day's practically over already,'_ he thought to himself, the remnants of a smile threatened to creep onto his face.

Muriel hit the corner that led down the road he'd come in on, and stopped dead in his tracks. 

Since he'd come into the marketplace, stood in line, and gotten what he'd come for, somebody had set up some makeshift stand out of old crates and wood planks and was selling various items. Just his luck, there was a small gathering of customers clustered around the stall, chattering and buying up little bits of crappy jewelry and nick-knacks that likely never belonged to the seedy looking salesman behind the counter. 

Part of him told him to just barge through, that he didn't have time for any of this, but really, when would he ever have the balls to do something like that. Why cause trouble? 

He turned back around begrudgingly, huffing as he made his way all the way back through the market to where it bled out into the Town Square. Then, it was just a quick walk to the next pathway and he'd be out, simple as that, right? 

_'Right...'_

As he approached the square he noticed that there was a much bigger crowd than before, however the music and noise had decreased. Now all that could be heard was the soft strum of some instrument and the occasional chime of a bell as the crowd chattered in hushed voices, mesmerised by whoever was performing. 

In fact, the crowd was so quiet, he could hear the music quite clearly. Someone hummed gently along with the lute.

As he walked by, he carefully and slowly drew closer, curious. He'd never seen people so quiet and attentive before, especially here, where most days you could hardly hear your own thoughts. Another chime resounded from the center of the gathering. 

As he got closer, he could easily see over the heads of the crowd, and saw what they were all gathered for. There was a dancer. 

Muriel sighed. Of course. Just some street performers, no wonder they were quiet. It was just proper decorum to stand quiet and listen to music. But then the dancer turned to face his side of the crowd. It was brief, soft brown eyes running over the crowd before they turned away with a chime. 

Something about them was... familiar. He didn't know how it made him feel, but he did know that he needed to know more, to see more. 

Their movements revolved heavily around their hips, they constantly swayed and waved along with the music, almost looking like they were leading the dancer around the arena. Muriel crept closer, not daring to even brush against the people next to him. A thick mop of dark hair framed their face, shielding it from Muriel's sight. It was almost frustrating, they'd spin around, bend over backwards, but always too quickly for Muriel to actually see them. With each strum of a chord, they'd gracefully bound from one side of the crowd to the other, until finally they settled in the middle once more. 

There, they were facing him, but they looked down at their jewel covered feet, obscuring their face. Slowly, the song built up, and the dancer rose with it, stepping and ringing the little cymbals wrapped around their fingers. And then. They opened their eyes. 

To his horror, they stared right at him, a cold flash running over him as he realised just how far he'd wandered into the crowd, and just how many people were also starting to notice him along with the familiar stranger. But worst of all, he knew their face. He knew where the remnant of a scar that blemished their cheek had come from, what they sounded like when they screamed for their own life.

Gripping his flour, he rushed backwards, pushing back through the crowd and hurrying to the sanctuary of the dark alleyways and out of the openness of the square. He had to go home. He had to go home. He had to get out of town, out of Vesuvia, into the woods. He had to run away.

\----

Etoille locked eyes with one of the audience members. He hadn't meant to, really, it all happened by chance. The stranger stared on, green eyes barely visible from beneath their tattered hood, expression nearly unreadable. The great, mountain of a man seemed shocked, frightened, even, and just as soon as he'd noticed him he disappeared in a flash. 

Wait, what? Why'd he stop? Oh God, he'd stopped dancing- was the song over? The music wasn't playing anymore, but he couldn't have finished. Nervously, he looked back to Greer, who seemed just as confused, if not more, than he was. 

Some of the people gathered around began nervously clapping and applauding while others looked around them, confused as to why it all just came to a halt. 

"Aha..." Etoille laughed, "It seems as though we've forgotten the rest, haha..." 

Some of the crowd laughed out of pity, others because they were simply as lost as he was. 

"I promise it's not usually like this," he said, giving a courteous bow. 

_'Oh gods, this is a fine mess to dig myself out of...'_

\----

By the time the sun had set, Etoille had managed to shake off the awkward feeling from earlier that day. Besides, it was hard to think about such things as he tucked into a hearty bowl of stew. Someone was giving a half-assed performance of some unrecognizable song on their hurdy-gurdy, stopping every once in a while to try and keep track of where they'd left off, with a few curses and jeers from the patrons of the Rowdy Raven cutting in between dissonant chords. If anything else, at least he wasn't as bad as that. 

He took one last gulp out of the old wooden bowl before setting it away from his area of the counter and moving his focus to the mug of ale set before him. As the barmaid came up to take away his dish.

"Have you seen Julian today?"

"Can't say I have, but I have heard of him. Somewhere around here, though I'm not sure where." she replied, gathering up empty flagons.

"Ah, thanks," he murmured, looking around the bar rather dejectedly. He wanted to tell him about his day, about the weird pause everyone took in the square and how it absolutely ruined everything. Well, okay, it didn't really ruin everything, but it did throw him off for the rest of the day. And that was exactly the sort of thing you shared with friends. 

But of course, the 'Good Doctor' had likely gotten himself caught up in something, and was likely working on getting himself out of it as Etoille took one final swig from his mug and went to settle at his usual table for the night to wait for his friend.


	3. Introductions Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Palace stirs in the distance as it seemingly springs to life in the night. The Countess insists she must see a fortune teller. At the very same time, the magician prepares to leave once more, only this time giving his apprentice something to do in the meantime. This doesn't keep her from being worried, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this will be the last part of the prologue. 
> 
> Thanks to the folks who decided to read this, it really means a lot to me! I hope you guys like this so far.
> 
> Also, for the sake of this work, Asra goes by He/They pronouns interchangeably since both of those are typically used to refer to them in canon and amongst fans. I'm sorry if this is a bad take or something, I'm cis, so I definitely don't know as much as someone gender-nonconforming. Please let me know if I should change a bunch of stuff, as I happily will. (Basically, some characters will refer to Asra as 'him/he' in dialog or if it's in their perspective, and some chapters may alternate from using they/them pronouns to masculine ones if it's from Asra's perspective or is referring to them by 3rd person. By all means if this is too 'weird' and you can speak for NB folks, let me know. I want to write an entertaining story, but I can't do that if people are uncomfortable and feel ostracized reading it, because then people feel icky, and I know I don't like it so why should I force it on y'all?)
> 
> Sorry, I kinda ranted a bit. I just want to make sure everything's cool.
> 
> Enjoy!

__

"Asra, you know I'm not leaving. I've told you this," Amalthea said, her thin, pink lips creasing into a frown. "Please, stop asking."

"But it isn't safe here any more-"

"I don't get sick, Asra. There's no risk for me- so why should I abandon my duties when my home is under siege?"

"I just..." Asra faltered. The pit in his stomach that had been building over the last month and a half only deepened. "What if it's not, Thea?"

Amalthea's expression of barely concealed exasperation remained as she cocked her head to the side ever so slightly.

"I just have a bad feeling about all this," he said, which was true, but it wasn't the whole of it. It wasn't just a 'bad feeling,' it was weeks upon weeks of ominous warnings and nightmares. He had told her this already, time and time again, but she didn't see the danger.

"There have been traces of the sickness throughout the woods." she stated, "Whatever happens in the city soon affects the wild. There's a pattern to these things. And if I can help to stop it, why shouldn't I?"

"Besides," she continued, "if what you say is true, then that's all the more reason to stay behind." 

He could tell by the determined look in her eyes that she had made up her mind for good. She had a while ago, really, but part of him still held onto the hope that she'd run away with him. He could tell there was something off about this plague, he knew it would bring pain in more ways than one. Staying around to watch a city rot from the inside out wasn't something he wanted to witness. Faust, sensing his anxiety, gave a comforting squeeze around his shoulders. 

"I will be fine," Amalthea repeated for about the tenth time that evening. "I have Titanus to help me divy up the work. I'm not alone here."

Asra let out a short sigh and went to look at the floor, knowing he had been defeated long ago. He knew that if the peryton were here he'd be getting death glares for putting up such a fuss, let alone trying to take their ward away from them. 

"I know you're worried about me," she said, changing her tone from serious to a more reassuring one. "But I have my ways. Besides, illness doesn't affect my kind, you know that." 

Her bright white hair fell in thick ringlets over her shoulders as she bent down to look up at him. The evening sun made it look like her hair was ablaze, and it lit up her fuchsia colored eyes. She was hauntingly alluring, as she always was, as the day that they'd met by chance in the woods. And she was just as powerful too. Asra pursed his lips upon making eye contact, deciding to give it up. She was right. She would live, but he wouldn't if he stayed much longer. The warnings must have been meant for him

"I'll be just fine. This isn't my first epidemic, and it won't be my last," she smiled calmly, as if the world around her wasn't falling apart at the seams. "I'll send you a message when this is all done, and then we can all go back to how things were, okay?"

\----

"Asra?"

The magician looked up from the counter, where all their rations and supplies had been put in neat but stuffed satchels and bags. Among which Faust happily poked and prodded every nook and cranny that presented itself.

"What?" they chirped, looking up from their bags to see Amalthea floating down the stairs from their joint living space. She was wearing one of Asra's old house robes on top of the calf-length linen dress she'd changed into after their trip to the market, her apron and pockets still hanging about her waist.

She had taken a pause about three steps away from the ground floor, hanging in the entryway like a spectre. Her stark white figure and watery eyes only contributing to her almost haunting appearance. The feeling like Asra was looking at something that shouldn't exist still reared its jarring head from time to time, always subsiding back down below after a few quick beats to process what they were seeing in front of them. 

"Oh, it's just that you left the deck behind." she said after a beat, seemingly looking them over, studying them before deciding to drop whatever it was she had noticed. 

"I thought I'd let you take care of it this time," they smiled, Faust making her way up to their shoulders from their travel bags. 

Amalthea's face lit up with surprise. 

"Wait, really?"

Asra smiled. "Of course, why not?"

"I..." she trailed off, "You think I'm ready? I mean- I know about, well the shop and all, but the cards are totally-"

"Something you can handle," Asra interjected, taking a step towards her to place a hand on her arm. 

Her eyes stared back in shock. The magician watched as uncertainty flashed across her face. She ran her manicured but calloused thumb over the soft purple fabric that held the tarot deck, the dim light of the lamp flames barely illuminating the curves and edges of her face. 

"But are you really sure?" she piped back up, "What if you need them while you're gone?"

"What would I need them for?" Asra asked, "I don't think I'll need a reading while I'm travelling."

Asra could sense her itching to shove the cards back into their hands. She'd never been quite comfortable with the deck since she'd been introduced to them, despite her talent with calling upon The Arcana. 

"Why don't you give me a reading? For luck, I mean." Asra asked, shifting her focus from her own doubts to the present once again. 

"And for practice?"

"And for practice." Asra grinned, Faust already eagerly peering off towards the reading room of the magic shop. 

_'Shiny ball!'_ Faust exclaimed excitedly as the two made their way to the candle-lit room. Little ornate stars hung from the ceiling in each of the corners and over the short, oakwood table where the crystal ball sat on it's stand. Thick, vibrant colored pillows littered the center of the room for patrons to sit on. The pair brushed past the partition and settled across from each other, as Asra set their hands palms down on the table, fingers barely reaching the the patterned cloth that decorated the middle-most part of the table.

Amalthea picked open the little pouch and pulled out the deck as Faust slithered to the crystal ball. One by one, she laid the cards out on the table as Asra looked on. She hesitated, fingers rapping on the edge of the table before she sighed and took them into her lap, closing her eyes. Her white brows furrowed in thought before her delicate hand appeared from below and hovered over the cards. A low, humming vibration reverberated between them. Whatever it meant was hidden from Asra as Amalthea's head tilted back ever so slightly. They watched intently as two of her fingers settled on the right-middle card. 

"The High Priestess," she muttered, eyes still closed as she flipped the card over to reveal the figure of an owl-like woman adorned in robes and a golden headdress.

"What does she say?" Asra asked, fingers running over their mouth as they leaned in. Amalthea open her eyes then, only it didn't look like she was seeing anything around her. 

"She says you've... neglected her..." Amalthea frowned, the words of the Arcana clearly worrying her just as much as it did Asra.

Asra felt guilt swell in the pit of their stomach. They knew exactly why. What they didn't know was how to go about dealing with it.

"She's called to you, you never... um," Amalthea faltered, leaving her trance-like state.

"... Asra?" Amalthea asked, coming out of her trance. The magician didn't respond, only tapping their bottom lip with their fingers. 

"Is..." she began, contemplating whether to continue before going on once more, "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine, Thea," Asra said a little too quickly. "I promise."

"I don't think that's true..." Amalthea said, staring right back at her mentor's face, making the young magician's skin crawl. Seeing her master's discomfort she quickly doubled back, "I'm sorry, I just don't-"

As if the universe were saving them from the uncomfortable conversation that was about to occur, there was a series of terse, solid knocks at the front door. Amalthea's head swivelled away from where Asra was sitting to the main area of the shop. It startled Asra as well, almost reminding them of how late it had gotten due to the unusualness of the timing. It was almost completely pitch dark outside, meaning Muriel was probably asleep by now. 

"Were we expecting anyone?" 

Asra shook their head, reaching out for their familiar. "I don't remember inviting anyone, but it's getting late," they said, "Can you...?"

"I can go and see what it is," Amalthea replied, getting up out of her seat. "You go on ahead, it's already midnight."

Asra made their way to where they'd left their luggage as Faust settled in the colorful scarf draped across their shoulders. Still, the air was thick with the tension from before. The words sat on the tip of their tongue, but each time they almost spoke, part of their mind decided it would do more harm than good as they took the feathered hat from the coat rack.

 _'Just go,'_ he thought, _'It's too late anyways.'_

_'Sorry?'_

The quiet, lisped voice of Faust rang out in the magician's head. Of course. Of course, there was no need to say it all at once. No need to make it so complicated, more than it already was, and certainly no need to just leave her in the dark all over again. They brushed a grateful pat on the python's lavender head. 

"Amalthea?" 

The apprentice turned to face them. 

"I'm sorry," they spoke, "I... we can talk later."

And with that, Asra was gone, and the apprentice was alone in the shop.

\----

The night was crisp, but not freezing. Nothing that the simple cloak and head scarf that Nadia wore couldn't remedy. 

The walk down had been quiet, almost eerily so. The sounds of people celebrating would occasionally be cast out along with the warm glow of the pubs and taverns that dotted the streets, followed by long stretches of bluish-violet silence with nothing but the discrete beat of the guardsman's boots several yards behind her. She'd forgotten what Vesuvia looked like at night. 

In her months spent recovering, the same dream haunted her. The sanguine image of the girl's face still haunted her, their words of reassurance, though now mostly forgotten, still lingered in her mind. No matter how many stories Portia told her or courtly duties given to her, they ate away at the back of her mind. 

The Consul ushered her to simply let it go, but if only it'd been that easy. Not to mention that at every mention of the stranger in her dreams, he seemed to almost immediately change the subject, causing her to think about it even more. 

She'd tried telling Portia, and of course her advice conflicted with that of the Courtier's; "Go and look for them," she'd said. And so, that's what she'd elected to do tonight after much deliberation. 

Despite being so close to the center of town and, consequently, the main marketplace, it seemed like a quaint stretch of the neighborhood. It was also faintly familiar, meaning she must be going the right way. Nadia adjusted the scarf around her head, making sure that the pin that secured the cloth was intact.

She turned the corner, moonlight reflecting off of the slightly damp cobblestone road that was wet from the rain that fell earlier in the day, and there it was. A little sign swayed gently on the night breeze that picked up just as she came into view of the shop next to a little orange lamp. "Twin Moons Magick Shoppe," written in faded calligraphy, the sign jutted out just far enough to stand out on the block. The writing made her wonder just how long the little store had been around. Or, rather, if it was just a gimmick to draw in customers.

She felt anxious, but at the same time relieved. She knew that she was at the right place, but she had no idea of how the events ahead of her would unfold. Would she see them there? All she could remember was their white hair, would she even get the right person?

 _'No choice but to go on and see,'_ she reasoned. She quietly motioned for her guards to stop a ways behind her as she approached the door to the shop. Soft, cool light filtered through the shaded windows, the blinds drawn to keep prying eyes from looking in in the night. She could hear the remnants of a conversation going on inside.

_'Knock, knock, knock...'_

The talking stopped abruptly. Muffled words were exchanged before it ended once more. 

_'At least they're awake,'_ she sighed, folding her hands in front of herself as she assumed a more fitting pose. It would be unbecoming to present herself inappropriately, even if she planned on assuming a civilian role for the time being.

The sound of approaching footsteps grabbed her attention away from her own thoughts. The guards still stood watching from a distance, tucked away into dark corners that still provided a decent view of where the Countess stood. They'd move by the windows when she went inside. If she went inside. She still had no idea what sort of reaction she would get. 

"Hello?"

The voice was gentle, unassuming, but sweet. It lilted with an accent that Nadia didn't quite recognize. 

"Forgive me for the hour, but I must speak with you. Please."

There was a beat of silence, and for a moment Nadia worried that she'd be turned away. Not that it would necessarily stop her, but it would make things more complicated than they already were. And then the door creaked open.

At first, she hardly noticed who was standing in the doorway, before a shock of long, white hair flashed in the lamplight. The hair belonged to a young woman, who carefully looked Nadia up and down, seemingly determining whether or not she was safe to let in.

"Please, miss," Nadia spoke, drawing the woman's eyes up to her's, "I cannot suffer another sleepless night."

This seemed to convince her, and the wooden door was swung open as who she assumed was the shopkeep motioned for her to come inside. 

The warm smell of incense wafted throughout the main shop room. Candles half melted into little corner shelves were still burning and there was hardly any shelf-space left unfilled. It was cluttered, but that seemed fitting somehow. 

"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, I was just unsure due to the time," the white haired woman spoke, gathering the faded hem of her plain dress to the front of her. In contrast, she was wearing one of the most jarringly patterned house robes Nadia had ever seen in her life. "I hope you can forgive me."

"It's quite alright," Nadia said, reassuring her as she continued to study the room. The ceiling was rather low, and the building looked rather old. She spotted where the smell of incense was coming from.

'Yes, this is familiar,' she recalled.

"What was it that you needed again?"

Nadia removed her hood as she stepped further into the room. "I've heard rumors that this shop is known for it's card readings. That you're very good at telling the future and reading people's fortunes, am I wrong?"

She watched as the shopkeeper froze, clearly recognizing her before continuing

The woman shook her head. "You're right, my lady, but I'm afraid that you may be thinking of my master, Asra. He owns the shop and created the cards you speak of."

For a moment, she panicked. Thinking that she'd just missed her opportunity before reason took over once again. She had to be right. She had no other option. Besides, why would it all look so similar to her dreams?

"No, I'm afraid I've come to speak with you."

The keeper seemed surprised by this, but quickly recovered her decorum. She nodded, having apparently made up her mind.

"Then please tell me what you need."

\----

Amalthea lead the Countess into the reading room where she and Asra had been minutes before. It was just her luck that something so important as the Countess visiting for a reading would happen after Asra left. Sometimes she swore he did it on purpose. 

She parted the violet curtains that shielded the room from the rest of the shop, stepping aside to let the Countess enter first. 

"I'm sorry for how late I've called upon you, but it truly is an urgent matter," she spoke. Her voice was strong, something that commanded respect and attention, but reassuring in it's tone. Hearing nobility apologize and give thanks to her of all people made Thea's stomach do back flips. "I feel as if I'm being hounded with omens, what's worse is that their nature is unknown to me."

"It's no trouble to me, my lady. I completely understand," she replied, "Dreams are powerful things, and sometimes the only thing to remedy them is closure."

She nearly shocked herself with how wise that statement sounded. Maybe she wouldn't screw herself over tonight. If she was lucky, the Countess would leave without sentencing her to the stocks for insulting her.

Amalthea set aside several of the nicer cushions for the Countess to sit on, fluffing them up hastily so she wouldn't be kept waiting. She shuffled away from the pillows and motioned for her to sit, standing rimrod straight and with her feet right together. She had no idea if what she was doing was either proper or ridiculous. Either way, the Countess pretended not to notice. 

She did her best to recreate the elegant gait the dark-haired woman had exhibited before as she made her way to the other side of the table. She prayed to the heavens that she wasn't making a fool of herself. 

She could feel the strange warmth of the deck in her waist pocket permeating through the fabric. The urgency in the Countess's voice and the hushed calls from beyond swirled in her mind. It was a strange night, indeed.

Due to her height, the noblewoman could easily see to Amalthea's side of the table, and watched with much interest as she set the deck out in front of her. Or was it scrutiny? Amalthea couldn't tell, but she willed herself to not think about whatever it was that was going on with the Countess. She would find out all she needed to know in a few moments, if she was lucky, that is. 

The silence coiled around them as she set out the cards for the second time that night. The sound of fabric shifting was the only thing that could be heard throughout the shop as the Countess fidgeted in her seat.

She closed her eyes and focused, shutting out the world around her as to hear the calls of The Arcana clearly. 

She felt as the coy and gentle presence of the Magician settled around her.

"What?" The Countess asked, nearly drawing her out of her meditative state. She must've said her finding out loud. 

"The Magician speaks."

There was a beat before the other woman spoke once more.

"What do they say?" There was a hint of scrutiny in her voice, as though she almost couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Amalthea held her breath as a honeyed voice spoke weighted words in her ear. Intrigue and curiosity built higher and higher the more the fox-like figure revealed.

 _"Hello, again,"_ the fox whispered, _"Let her know her mind and heart are headed in the right direction. But prepare yourself for all that's to come- you, specifically, I mean."_

With that, The Magician passed over to where the Countess sat, bright magenta colored eyes glowing in the dark as they appeared to inspect the noblewoman before exiting the room altogether.

"Do you have a... plan you are waiting to enact?" Amalthea asked, hoping that since the fox was certainly leaving she could figure out what they'd said on her own.

"How do you..." The Countess breathed in disbelief before quickly catching herself.

"I-I do, I mean I do." she replied. Amalthea sat up to face her, the presence of The Arcana quickly fading. She had heard enough, apparently, despite all that had been kept from her. What sort of thing was the Countess waiting on? And why did she seem so shocked by this? Also, how was she able to guess it so easily? A distant laugh echoed in the lingering tendrils of magic.

"Did they tell you what I should do with this? Or do the cards not work in that way?"

"They give answers, sometimes, and usually in ways that don't make sense to me. Usually that's because I'm not the one asking the questions."

"So then..." she trailed off, "What should I do next?" the Countess asked, straightening herself up even more and raising her chin to resume her regal pose.

"They said to listen to your intuition," Amalthea answered, "I'm sorry if that's not enough, but it's all that was revealed."

The Countess's eyes widened then. A look of relief washed over her features, causing Amalthea to let out a sigh she didn't know she'd been holding. The pressure of disappointing the leader of her homeland had lifted off her shoulders.

_'Thank the gods, I won't lose the shop before Asra comes back.'_

"Then it's settled," she spoke, her voice firm and confident once more, drawing Amalthea out of her own head once more.

"You are being summoned to the palace for much needed assistance."


	4. The Hanged Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Countess returns to the palace for some much deserved rest, while the Apprentice's mind reels from the news. She hardly has any time to recover before a stranger in a dark cloak and terrifying mask breaks into the shop. 
> 
> Meanwhile, the Outsider waits for the Magician's counsel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, this thing blew up! Thank you guys for the kudos, I know I keep saying this, but it does mean a lot to me. Anyways, sorry for the pause, I had PSATs and it's also the end of the semester for my school so there's a lot of stuff going on and it is ~painful~. I do plan on completing this with a semi-clear ending in mind, so rest assured that this fic isn't going to be abandoned, there may be some long pauses and hiatuses but I am going to finish this. 
> 
> CW: Home invasion, blood mention, panic attack

The damp permeated in the dark of the night, fog had rolled in from the old shopping district and with it an odd chill. It seemed perfect for sneaking around, which was exactly what Julian was doing; mask up and everything. Malak, his raven, glided on the draft, beady eyes studying every back alley and corner for any sign of danger. As annoying as the bird was at times, he made a fantastic look out. 

A jagged caw split the night air, and with a swish of his long, black coat Julian disappeared down a sideroad. Guards infested the inner city like rats in a nest, but he didn't really hold it against them for doing their job. He was a criminal, so it wasn't like their adversity was unearned. 

Passing by familiar buildings and dilapidated landmarks let him know he was on track to Asra's shop. Now he could only pray he'd listen to him once he made it inside. 

The old cobblestone path that wrapped around the back of Twin Moon's was shrouded in darkness. Malak had perched himself on a stack of old crates piled up by the backdoor of the shop. Julian sighed, approaching the door, and reaching into his coat pocket for the-

' _Oh..._ '

It wasn't there. Of course it wasn't. Why would he grab it the one night he actually needed to use it?

"I- oh, are you sure?"

The muffled remnants of a conversation floated through the oak wood door, causing Julian to trip over himself as he raced to duck down behind the stack of old boxes where Malak sat preening, unbothered. That wasn't Asra speaking, he was sure of it. Why the hell hadn't the raven said anything?

"Some use you are!" he hissed, earning no reaction from his familiar as the voices continued. He pressed his ear to the wall. 

"You'll be compensated for your time spent at the palace,"

The hearty and confident voice of Nadia reverberated through the somewhat thin walls. He blanched, wondering how close he'd just come to getting caught. But what was she doing here? From what he'd heard around town she didn't remember Asra, and she _clearly_ didn't remember him, seeing as she'd put a warrant out for his arrest. 

"Should I bring anything, my lady?"

There was a pause where Julian assumed Nadia shook her head. The strange, quiet voice swam around in his mind as he tried to put a face to the noise.

"Anything you'll need will be provided, but I would recommend you bring the deck with you if you deem it useful."

"Yes, my lady."

Again, the stranger's voice stirred in his chest, some distant memory like a dream ebbing at the back of his mind. Was it some port? Her accent wasn't from around here. Perhaps it was that. Or maybe his mind was playing tricks on him.

The words faded into obscurity as the two moved away from the back of the shop, and no matter how hard he strained, he couldn't make out what they were saying. The jingle of the doorbell followed by the sound of the front door closing could be heard from his spot in the alley. Lifting his mask, he rubbed the tip of his nose to get rid of an itch while he weighed his options. 

It probably wouldn't look good if Asra's apprentice freaked out seeing him break in through one of the windows, so he'd have to be careful. He could try the second story, where Asra was likely to be, but that'd mean attempting to crawl up the side of the building, which, despite his great looks, Julian doubted he was capable of doing such a thing. As if to hurry him along, Malak tapped the glass pane of one of the cobwebbed windows near the door. Julian huffed. 

' _Guess there's no other option,_ ' he resolved. If something went wrong, he could always charm his way out of it. Probably. 

\----

' _Tomorrow, 10 o'clock..._ ' Amalthea went over the instructions in her mind, thinking of how to prepare. She'd been thrown for a loop; one minute planning on waking up the next day to an entourage of customers and now to make a temporary home at the _palace_ of all places. 

' _I should write a note for Asra, or no, I should try contacting him-_ ' she paced, ' _But he might not answer. He usually doesn't..._ '

Her stomach twinged as she quickly dispelled the thought. She didn't need to think about the emotions behind it all. Not now, she didn't have time. She had to pack at least a travel bag for tomorrow. Maybe set out her clothes for the upcoming week. 

' _What a night, what a night,_ ' she shook her head, tapping her lip as she moved behind the countertop to search for parchment. She had decided that the note would be enough. 

The wind rattled the windows and the shop creaked ever so slightly, old foundations still settling in after all the years spent standing. She remembered Asra telling her about the place, or rather, trying to. For some reason parts of it were blocked out of her mind, but it was no matter. He'd said something along the lines of it being here since the city was founded, and the rest was a mystery. She let out an exhausted breath as she grabbed her inkwell and quill from the drawer. Little tendrils of a headache threatened to grab ahold of her mind as her thoughts ran away from the lost conversation. She told herself not to worry about it anymore. It'd bring too much pain, and her master wasn't here to take it away from her, nor was she skilled enough to rid such a level of agony that the migraines brought her.

She set the quill to the white sheet of paper as the window rattled harder.

Wind.

There was no wind.

Her fine head swivelled in the soft light of the shop to face the very back. Tucked behind a corner, one of the windows was shaking as if someone was trying to open it. At first, she had written it off as just the night going about it's many businesses, but now it was clear it was more the intent of another person or thing causing the disruption. 

Instinctively she crouched down behind the counter, trying to think of who would dare break in to the shop. At first the rather hopeful thought that it was Asra sprang to mind, but he had a key, so it wouldn't make sense for him to try the window. So the worse and only other option presented itself; a thief. Or a murderer. Or both. Her blood ran cold with the thought as she heard the unmistakable sound of the frame being forced open. She nearly let out a frightened sob before mentally slapping herself straight. She had to remain calm, otherwise she stood no chance. The maiden-in-distress act only worked occasionally, and she needed to be sure of what to do when the intruder made their way to where she was hiding. Which, by the heavy ' _Thud!_ ' she heard come from down the hall, would be soon. 

Her heartbeat roared in her ears as she listened desperately for footsteps, each breath shuddering as she cautiously drew it in, not daring to let herself be heard. She peeked to the side, searching the shelves below the counter for any sort of weapon to defend herself with. The old bat that Asra kept was missing from its spot, but next to where it should've been there was an inconspicuous gathering of empty bottles along with bits of left over herbs and paper melded in with old wax. She gently wrapped her hand around the neck of what looked like a repurposed wine bottle as the sound of someone coming down the hall drew louder. 

She felt naked, just barely tucked behind the little swinging door that separated the rest of the store from where she was hiding. Her skirt and shoes could undoubtedly be seen if the intruder were to glance for more than a second in her direction. She pulled her legs underneath her, making herself as small as possible, as if it would be any help.

The footsteps clicked against the floorboards with gentle precaution, as if their owner too wished to go unseen. Slowly, Amalthea folded herself down to look down the hall. Thick black boots with the hem of a flowing overcoat of the same color dangled below the stall door, sending a shiver down the apprentice's spine. 

' _All the better to go unseen..._ ' she thought, knowing the chances of her potential killer being caught were dropping bit by bit. Part of her yearned to make a run for the front door, to scream down the street and pray that the Countess and her guardsmen would hear her and come to her rescue, but the intruder stood too close to where she was crouched, positioned just perfectly in the path to the door. She could vault over the counter, but what sort of weapon did they have? How quickly could she make it out? And if she did, what if no one came to save her? Her only hope was to hold her ground, either by staying hidden or fighting back. 

She looked on with morbid curiosity as the figure moved to the stairway that lead to her and Asra's living space, the old stairs groaning beneath their leather boots. She gripped the cool glass of the bottle as she considered her next move. She needed a better hiding spot. 

Behind around the corner where the intruder broke in, there was a rickety closet full of spare shoes and jackets with just enough space for someone to tuck inside. 

She rose, still bent over as she shuttled down behind a display shelf, pausing, listening. Floorboards creaked above her. She stood once more, now breaking into a swift and quiet run towards the hall, clutching her precious bottle to her chest. Her heart thrummed in her chest, each beat lining up with her footfall. The house shuddered with anticipation, the sound of old wood bending and shifting breaking through the dark as it all reached a crescendo.

A blur in her peripheral is what first alerted her, carelessly catching a glimpse at the figure at the top of the stare.

Her body was thrown flush against the wall as she faced the figure in full. The deep horror of her mistake, chased by baleful regret, rushed up from the floor like a pack of spiders as the pair stared back at one another, time coming to a screaming halt. 

The shrouded figure was nigh indistinguishable in the dark of the stairway, save for the stark, white mask in the shape of a bird. Its beady, red goggle-like eyes shone back at her as its owner hovered in the doorway, flickering along with the lamplight from the hall. 

All at once, they broke out of their haze; Amalthea running for the front of the shop and the figure closing the distance between them with long, gangly strides. 

" _Stop!_ " the stifled voice of the birdman calling out for her. Amalthea whimpered, struggling with the door handle, her mind focused on nothing else but her own survival. 

" _Please, wait a moment!_ "

A gloved hand gripped her shoulder, spinning her around to face the intruder. 

An enraged cry split the dull silence of the night, as Amalthea brought the bottle down on the top brim of the mask with a satisfying ' _crack!_ '. In one swift motion, she shoved herself out of the intruder's grasp and pushed him away as he cradled his head, cursing. With a deep grunt she rushed him again, forcing him onto the ground as the wielded the broken bottle like a dagger. 

"Okay, okay," the birdman stammered, thrusting an arm out in front of him to keep the apprentice from getting any closer, "Everybody just stop, lemme explain myself-" 

" _Excuse _me?" Amalthea bawled incredulously.__

__"I'm looking for someone-" the stranger continued, ignoring the white-haired woman._ _

__"Oh, are you? Let's just take a minute and establish who's asking what; which is me, seeing as you _just_ broke into my house, and I've got you..." she faltered. She was going to say cornered, but that wasn't really true. All she had was a crappy piece of glass that had now cut into her palm. "Erm..."_ _

__"Look, you're bleeding too," the figure piped up, propping himself onto his elbows. "Let's just all calm down, and we can talk this out-"_ _

__" _Oh, you_ -" she started again, her newfound rage giving her a dangerous sense of confidence. But then again, he was rather easy to knock down..._ _

__"Ah! Hey! No! Listen to me- I'm not after your valuables or anything like that, I promise," he interrupted, raising his hand once again and not-so-subtly scooted away. "I just need to speak with Asra."_ _

__\----_ _

__Julian Devorak. That was the birdman's name, as if Amalthea couldn't guess from the face that matched the ones on the many wanted posters littered about the city. Once again, she found herself sat down at the reading table, reaching out across the top for the disgraced doctor to dab a piece of cloth on her severed palm, his other hand busy with a wet piece of gauze pressed to the wound on his forehead, courtesy of Amalthea herself._ _

__Few words had been exchanged since the debacle before, only speaking to introduce one another properly and to let the other person know that they were shoving the piece of bandage too hard against their cut._ _

__Julian had stayed true to his word, not striking out or snagging any stray item as she led him around the shop, gathering the first aid kit and then settling in the reading room. Still, the two were wary of each other, despite the auburn haired man's awkward attempts at striking up smalltalk._ _

__"So... how do you know him?"_ _

__The gangly man looked up from his work, eyebrows raised. She had hardly spoken since she'd stopped holding him at bottle-point._ _

__"Who?" he asked._ _

__"Asra, I mean. Sorry."_ _

__"Oh, uh..." he trailed off, the faint hint of an awkward smile flashed across his face. "It's a bit of a long story. I guess the short of it was, er, we used to... work together?"_ _

__The nervous grin gave way as he went back to focusing on Amalthea's hand. Frustration egged away at the back of her mind; he wasn't telling her everything. But then again, what was new?_ _

__"Sorry, I know it's not a lot to go off of, but..."_ _

__He must've caught the annoyed look on her face before she shook it off._ _

__"It's fine," she waved her hand, "Besides, that's not all that important. What I _do_ need to know, however, is _why_ you need to see him."_ _

__He sighed, flipping her hand over and grabbing a bandage from the first aid kit that was spread out on the table._ _

__"I need a reading. He has these cards-"_ _

__"The deck?" she interjected._ _

__"You have them?" he looked up, his tired, gray eyes lighting up with hope._ _

__Amalthea simply nodded._ _

__"Asra's not here, but I can certainly give you a reading if you really need one."_ _

__"I figured _that_ much, but if you know how to use them- if you're willing, I mean- I'd be happy to get out of your hair as soon as it's done."_ _

__As he spoke, Amalthea reached into her pocket to take out the deck for the third time that night. Again, the unmistakable sensation of magic pranced about the little, purple pouch. It seemed the Arcana had much to say tonight._ _

__"Well, if you'll promise to leave that quickly," she quipped, "who am I to refuse?"_ _

__The same as before, she divided the deck and set out the cards to find the one that called._ _

__Her shoulders settled, going limp as she draped her right hand on the edge of the table, searching for a sign. For anything. The world was dark and subdued as she scoured for any sort of response, though every time she felt she was getting closer to her goal, the power shied away like a ghost. One by one she went down the line, desperately searching for the right door until she reached the very last option: Death._ _

__She saw nothing, but heard a voice, dim as an ember. Her fingers traced the hard edge of the card as she set it face up on the table for Julian to see and for her selection to be known. Her ears strained for the distant words as the figure wobbled in and out of her sight._ _

__A sharp laugh split her concentration in two. She flinched, hopelessly grasping at Death's presence in an attempt to keep them, but it was no use. They were gone, done with whatever they wanted to say._ _

__The best she could do now was interpret the card's basic meaning._ _

__Julian stood up, still chuckling to himself as he began to start for the exit._ _

__"Wait a minute- where are you going?" Amalthea asked, getting up to follow after him, "I haven't even told you-"_ _

__Another bark of laughter cut her off as he turned to face her, leaning against the doorframe with exhausted ease._ _

__" _Death cast her gaze on this wretch and turned away._ "_ _

__Amalthea stammered. She hadn't even said anything about the card, and this man was already dismissing her._ _

__"You- no- that's not what any of that means, wait!"_ _

__"Thank you, really, and sorry for the mess." he said with a swish of his coat, gliding his mask back onto his face as he whisked away towards the door._ _

__"At least let me tell you the damn meaning, or fix up your cuts for-!"_ _

__Before she could even finish, she heard the door slam shut with the piercing jingle of the bell. Exasperated she ran to the front door and burst outside. A gentle breeze brushed down the street, toying with the hem of her skirt and running its fingers through her long, white hair._ _

__He was gone. Not even the sound of his black boots could be heard in the dead quiet of the night._ _

__She stared out into the dark, questioning if she should call out or not, if the entire interaction between them even happened. The dull sting on her hand told her it was real, along with the intricate wrapping cradling the wound._ _

__" _So many questions... So many questions in just one night._ "_ _

__\----_ _

__Crickets and peepers sang their nightly songs in the wetted underbrush of the forest. Remnants of raindrops splashed from the canopy to the ground, shining with the warm light of a fireplace before once again falling into shadow. And there, nearest to the hearth, was a wolf. Cozy and slowly drifting off to sleep, she watched as her master sat, waiting at the self-made table with bread that had long since cooled and the stew that was meant to go with it still simmered on the fireplace in a heavy, black pot. From the rafters hung furs and blankets not in use, weighed down by old tools found on the road side or cast aside by the citizens of the nearby city. On a work table nearby, wooden masks were strewn about, some finished, some not, all fashioned after some type of animal with intricate detail and whimsy imbued in the grain._ _

__The man's knee bobbed nervously as he waited, dark, jaw-length hair hanging loosely in front of his roughened face._ _

__They were late. Again. It wasn't something to necessarily worry about, he knew they wouldn't forget him, but tonight was one of the worst nights for Asra to be behind schedule._ _

__Part of him scolded himself, telling him he should've planned for something like this, but he knew deep-down there was no way he could have._ _

__' _Could've gone a day earlier, could've stayed away..._ '_ _

__But it was too late now. Now, that face haunted him. The look of innocent curiosity contorted to disgust and horror, the music and laughter distorted to that scream, that _wailing_. It was too much. It was all too much. He should've waited. He should've, he should've, he should've..._ _

__"Muriel?"_ _

__The thick, warped door to the hut opened without a reply, the young magician with their unmistakable mop of bright, silvery hair stepped inside. The wolf let out a high-pitched yawn as she stretched in front of the fireplace._ _

__"I'm sorry I'm so late, I got caught up with Amalthea again, you know how it is," they said, setting their satchel and feathered hat neatly by the entrance._ _

__Muriel wearily lifted his head to make eye contact with his friend. Amalthea, Asra's apprentice, right. That was something else he could focus on, something to distract him from what happened earlier._ _

__"Is... something wrong?" Asra asked, a gut wrenching concerned look taking over their features as they approached the table where Muriel sat._ _

__Or not._ _

__"It's nothing..." he said, getting up to get the bowls from the chest next to the hearth._ _

__"Are you sure? You know you can tell me. I gush to you all the time, it'd at least make it a little more fair. Like, in who-vents-to-who terms." the magician said, settling down on a carved stool across from Muriel's seat. Inanna, the wolf, stood wagging her tail at Asra's feet, waiting for the new guest's attention._ _

__"I'd rather not talk about it." Muriel grumbled simply, ladling out hot venison stew into the carved wooden bowls, back turned to his friend._ _

__"Okay," Asra replied, sitting up upon seeing Muriel approaching with the food, having already broken off a piece of bread. They wouldn't push for information, even if it seemed to be weighing hard on the raven-haired man._ _

__"You bake this yourself? It's very good," they asked, bits of crumb spilling out of their mouth. Muriel nodded, taking a piece for himself and soaking up broth from his bowl._ _

__The two were quiet, save for the occasional break to address the wolf who was currently going between the pair in the hopes of table scraps. He could feel the redness in his eyes, the dark rings that hung beneath them. It was obvious he was upset, and there was no chance Asra didn't notice given how long they'd known him. But he just wanted a moment's peace, a quick pause to eat with his only friend before they disappeared for an indefinite amount of time._ _

__Muriel watched as Asra's familiar, Faust, poked her lavender head out from underneath her master's scarf and made a beeline for the soup. The magician's bowl was practically empty. Asra was idly stroking the snake as she dipped her head into the broth, listening to the crackling of the fire as Inanna went back to setting her thick, gray and black head on Muriel's lap, her bright, green eyes begging for more bread._ _

__"Sorry I was late, again." Asra piped up, breaking the silence. "I got a late start to packing and then I had to check with Thea, and it all just took a bit too long I guess."_ _

__A gentle hum filled the space between them, along with the soft beat of the she-wolf's tail on the floor of the hut._ _

__"She's getting better at doing the readings again," Asra smiled, their violet eyes lighting up with memories of year's past, quickly halted by one more recent._ _

__"She give you one before you left?"_ _

__"Mm, yeah," the magician replied, guiding Faust's head back up from the bowl, rich broth dripping from the serpent's chin. "Nothing great, but it's... I'll deal with it like everything else."_ _

__"So... you want to clarify that?" Muriel grinned, earning an eye roll from Asra._ _

__"I'm _going_ to address it, I just... I just need a break, first." they mumbled, leaning back in their seat and stretching their legs out underneath the table, foot brushing up against Muriel's thick calf as they settled. _ _

__"How long?"_ _

__Asra looked up, eyebrows raising in question._ _

__"How long do you think you'll be gone?" Muriel repeated, shoulder's finally relaxing as the conversation rolled._ _

__"Maybe a week. But I said four days to Thea, so probably sooner than that."_ _

__Another hum rumbled out of the larger man's chest as he gave several hearty pats to his own familiar's head._ _

__"This is her first time actually running the shop while I'm gone, so I don't want to leave her stranded for too long. But I gave her the cards, just in case I can't be reached. She knows what to do."_ _

__Muriel groaned inwardly as the conversation returned to Asra's apprentice._ _

__"I'm still worried, though," Asra bit their lip._ _

__"So why leave her again?" Muriel asked, "If she likes you as much as I do, I know she'd at least miss you while you're wandering."_ _

__Asra's tanned face scrunched up as they cracked an uncomfortable smile. "You always mix in some complement or cheesy sentiment into your confrontations."_ _

__Muriel shrugged his hulking shoulders. "Best for avoiding fights."_ _

__"I'm not gonna fight _you_ ," Asra laughed, deftly trying to shift the topic. Muriel didn't let go, however. _ _

__"I don't get why you don't tell her."_ _

__Asra's expression drooped. "It's more complicated than that," they replied, thin fingers stroking Faust's chin, "She doesn't remember anything- she couldn't walk properly two years ago."_ _

__Muriel fiddled with the wooden spoon that laid dejectedly in his bowl._ _

__"It would just make things messy." Asra finished._ _

__"Things _are_ messy." Muriel corrected, earning an understanding look from across the table. _ _

__"All the more reason to wait," Asra replied, getting up from their spot to take away the dishes._ _

__The night went on smoothly, Asra recounting their eventful week as Muriel simply sat and listened, throwing in comments from time to time, but otherwise enjoying the conversation as the fire burned on and the peepers and crickets continued to sing. The light inside kept out the cold and damp._ _

__"Oh, and we went to the market today too. I know I keep bringing it up, but I swear there's some new vendor on that one corner- you know that one that leads to the temple district? Or, I think it goes there. Anyways, there was some poor spice dealer set up there, which they'll probably be out by the time I get back. I swear, that spot is cursed or something."_ _

__Muriel smiled. "What was there last time again?"_ _

__"Last time? Oh... actually I don't think it was a vendor, at least not last week. Last week some dancer had set up there."_ _

__Muriel's brow twitched a little._ _

__"Had a tambourine and some coin skirt. They seemed nice, only it was a bit awkward as there wasn't any music they were dancing to. They didn't seem to mind much, though. Made some good money too that day from what I _do_ remember." Asra continued, Faust balling herself up in their lap. _ _

__"Did they seem okay?"_ _

__It came out as quiet as a cat's footfall, the wretched question. Why did he even ask? It probably wasn't even the same person, why did he care? It wasn't important. Damn it all, he was supposed to forget it. He was supposed to forget it._ _

__"Uhm, yeah?" Asra answered, rightfully confused by the question._ _

__"Sorry, I just..."_ _

__' _Just what? Say something more!_ ' Muriel scolded himself. It was too late. He was going to have to talk about it. Probably wouldn't do any good not to, at this point. It was already a problem. Gods, why was he like this?_ _

__"Is this the thing from earlier?" Asra asked tepidly, earning a tired nod from the outsider. The magician settled gently against the old, frittered cushion._ _

__"Saw someone from before," Muriel waved his hand slackly, dark green eyes fading. "Hurt 'em. Saw them today in the market."_ _

__"Hurt them, like..." Asra pried, leaning forwards to catch the other man's near silent words. The silence filled in the rest of the sentence. Muriel shrugged._ _

__"Figured they were, I mean, they weren't... they weren't against me. Sorry..."_ _

__"Don't be, don't be." Asra cooed, voice reassuring and kind as ever._ _

__"They were, uh, I mean-" Muriel scoffed. Why did he care?_ _

__"They had dark hair. The tambourine, did it have ribbons?"_ _

__Why did he care?_ _

__To his... dread? Relief? Regardless, Asra nodded. "You think the guy I saw could be them?"_ _

__"I don't know," he sighed. "It doesn't matter."_ _

__"Clearly it sort of does, I mean..." they trailed off, "You're caught on it. I'm sorry you had to go through all that-"_ _

__Muriel stopped them with a wave of his calloused, scarred hand. He didn't need more ' _I'm sorry,_ 's, any more regrets. He knew they both had plenty of each and more between them. _ _

__The rest was spent in relative silence, either knowing that whatever they tried talking about, it would only devolve into something uncomfortable. For Asra it was Amalthea, and Muriel... well. It was a lot of things. Mostly the... dancer? He had no idea anymore. He had a slight clue as to what they used to be, and about the same about who they were presently. He didn't need to know anything else. He'd talked about it once, and that was enough._ _

__An hour passed like water down a stream. Faust hooked herself around Muriel's thick arm, struggling to stay attached as Asra began to leave. Time was up. Emotions pulled the friends apart for one last time before the magician left for distant lands, searching for something they wouldn't find anywhere but home. The outsider hiding away from the past as he always did._ _


	5. The Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning comes, and with it, a new adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So I just wanna preface this by saying I'm going to be re-writing the first two chapters, I'm unhappy with how I wrote Etoille and I want to make some changes to his character, as well as Muriel. 
> 
> Other than that, I'm glad you guys seem to be enjoying this. Or I hope you are. I'd be happy to receive any sort of feedback in the comments. Thank you to those who have left kudos! I really appreciate it! Also, again, sorry but there won't be any new chapters for a bit, but they will be coming, I promise, just hang in there.

" _Mammy!_ "

She felt small, strange, _weak_. 

The distinct image of red, thorny vines strangled the muted world around her as sourceless wind streaked around her frame. 

" _Mammy!_ "

Her breath came out in heavy sobs as snowflakes trembled on her eyelashes. No one but the howling gale replied to her crying. Scarlet creepers began to wrap themselves around her bruised, skinny legs like veins, their small barbs digging into her skin. She knew if she stood there much longer that she would be consumed, either by the plants or by whatever was waiting in the cloudy distance. 

She'd forgotten what she'd been doing before. Somewhere warm in a forest under the trees, tucked away in a blank room on a bare cot surrounded by the dead and dying, running through the streets as she raced a friend, laughing. All of it, the tranquility, the dread, the joy, was flushed from her, whisked away by the harsh winds and the fear in her heart.

" _Mammy, where are you?_ " she begged, her voice echoing back at her as if to mock her.

She felt hot all over despite the freezing weather around her. Blinding light flashed across her eyes, turning her world completely dark as the vines made one last surge over her body.

\----

Amalthea woke with a start, eyes pricked and stinging with tears, the remnants of a scream still trapped in her lungs. Her damp skin clung to the bedsheets, the warm comforter cast almost completely off of the bed from her fits in the night. The cold fled from her body.

Sharp, prodding pain poked at her from behind her bloodshot eyes. Sunlight barely slipped between the curtains of the apartment, dribbling across the floor and onto her pillows. it was time to get up.

Like an old, wooden doll, she moved herself out of bed, cradling her aching head in her hands as she did. Old, wooden floorboards creaked under her weight as her cold feet touched the chilled ground. Tangled, white hair hung about her face and fell past her elbows, the neat braids that usually tucked away the length undone from the night before. A glimpse in the mirror that stood by the entrance to the flat told her that the feelings of old sweat and tired eyes clinging to her face were accurate.

In a haze, she went through the motions of the morning; food, tea, grooming, and clothes. Her favorite _ruana_ protected her from the slight cold of the morning as she secured it around her shoulders with a delicate, brass pin. She would wear her best for the Countess. The yellow starry yellow embroidery at the hem made her feel like she was wearing a cloak made of stars, almost letting her forget about the nightmare. Almost.

Despite having lost everything; her age, her past, her _memory_ , she was never able to let go of the nightmares. Or rather, they never let go of her. Sometimes, she considered asking Asra to help her, to take away the pain as they did with her migraines, but she never had the courage. They'd already done so much. 

She knew she had taken too long getting ready, the sunlight no longer shining through her window at the angle it had before and the water she'd boiled for tea having long gone cold. If she didn't want to offend any important figures, she would have to leave within the next ten minutes.

She checked over the shop one last time, begrudgingly shoving the old wardrobe in front of the broken window that Dr. Devorak had so lovingly demolished, the stray planks laying around the cellar that she'd haphazardly nailed to the frame before traipsing off to bed having already started to dangle from their posts. Quickly, she swept away the stray bits of glass that littered the floor before rushing for her bag and out the front door, the sun growing dangerously high on the horizon and with it the anxiety that she would be late. 

\----

Julian couldn't tell if the throbbing was because of the head injury he'd earned or the copious amount of strange tonics that someone had managed to talk him into the night before. Regardless, he was on the move. To where, he wasn't quite sure to be honest. Right now he was scarfing down a danish of some forgotten flavor that was criminally dry as he made his way around the outskirts of the market, not too far from where he'd woken up tucked behind a bin of some sorts. 

Malak bobbed his head up an down on his shoulder, practically buzzing with excitement as Julian was escaping the throes of a hangover. 

"You'd better be doing your job right now," he grumbled, voice rattling out in an exhausted growl. 

He remembered liking the main marketplace before the whole 'mess,' as he called it sometimes. He and his sister, Portia, would make a day of wandering from each district, traipsing from stall to stall pretending that they were going to buy something just to stick around and then never falling through. Unless if it was food. He was certain he'd gain a few pounds after each time they went out like that based off of how much they'd eat those days. 

The danish, however, definitely left something to be desired. That, or he might've singed off his taste buds during the events of last night. 

Despite the dull pain in his head, he couldn't deny that the market looked as beautiful as ever, almost just like how he remembered. Some things had changed; old shops and areas taken down and replaced, now filled with bustling customers or newer vendors selling their wares, but that was how time worked. Some things would remain, like that one bakery that he'd neglected to visit and was now regretting, but they'd shift and adapt like how tall mountains all eventually bowed to the forces of snow and wind. 

Strange. He usually wasn't this poetic when he was hungover. 

He gave up trying to stomach the crappy pastry, crumbling up the last bits of crust and holding it up in his palm for the raven to eat, to which he happily obliged, letting out an excited squawk. And, notably, no 'thank you,' in return.

People were all dressed so colorfully. Well, sort of. There were a lot of greens and yellows out this morning, making him feel as if he'd wandered into a field of daffodils. Not that he didn't like daffodils, but it just wasn't a very daffodil-type of day. Leaning against one of the wooden posts suspending the tarp canopy, he scanned the crowd. Amongst the field of colors, beautiful red and violet cloths would spring up and wind about the marketplace. Some waved their colorful arms from stalls, displaying even more beautiful weavings and shades behind them. Some were faded and well worn, others vibrant and new. Regardless, Julian couldn't deny that this sea of pigments looked just as, if not more, beautiful than the oceans far away. 

A cloak of deep indigo bobbed amongst the stream of people, a shock of long, white braids swaying along the front, a sheet of wavy hair cascading down the back, shimmering in the morning light. It looked warm from the sunlight, the color of fresh cream, reaching down to the young woman's elbows in length.

' _Hey, wait a minute,_ '

' _Magic girl!_ ' Malak screeched, black wings bursting from his sides as the alarm rang out, ' _Magic girl!_ '

The little yellow dots that lined the hem danced as the woman trotted deftly through the square, the ends just moving enough for him to catch a glimpse of the pale cornflower hue of her dress, a splash of warm mauve wrapped around her waist with purses of varying style, obviously from different makers. It was definitely her, despite the new outfit; not many people had hair like hers, nor the strange mark on her forehead.

' _Magic girl, run!_ ' Malak cried out once more, ' _Run away!_ '

Sure enough, Julian watched as her plum colored eyes met his, the world slowing down as a swirl of emotions flashed across her face, the most notable being a cocktail of shock and offense.

' _Dummy!_ ' Malak hissed, wing thumping against Julian's temple as time returned to its regular pace and Amalthea, the apprentice, froze.   
\----

Amalthea's stomach spasmed with hunger as the smell of fresh bread and pastries wafted through the air. Still, she resolved herself to ignore the urge, knowing that any sort of excursion would result in her tardiness at the palace, if she wasn't already going to be late. She cursed herself for not opening the curtains a little wider the night before to let the sunlight wake her sooner. Not to mention the terrible amount of sleep she'd gotten. At least she was mostly distracted from last night's visions.

The marketplace was as busy as ever, the constant din of people shouting prices and going about their mornings blending into her mind like a meaningless mound of audial mush, comfortably filling the space between her ears as she thoughtlessly continued on her route to the palace.

She relished in the sound of her boots clicking against the stone path, childishly comparing them to hoofbeats as she hurried through the plaza. Based on the looks of it, it was getting closer and closer to noon as the sun rose higher and higher. 

She waved to her favorite baker as she passed by the source of the amazing smell, vainly trying to remember his name before continuing on, sifting past cityfolk dressed in their vivid attire with ease. Sometimes she felt as if they never even saw her, as a particularly brutish man barged on straight towards her. It didn't matter; she slipped by just as she always did.

Great, thick poles held up the many canvases and tarps that provided some shelter for the market-goers. Around them, the occasional makeshift stool or bench was set up nearby, almost every one of them filled with patrons stopping on their way to work to catch a bite to eat and maybe a bit of gossip too as she watched a pair lean in towards each other, whispering close to the other's ear, careful not to let others around them hear what it was they were sharing. Sometimes she and Asra would sit down together and eat on their shopping days, people watching and idly chatting before returning back home to the shop. 

' _Today would be a good day for that,_ ' she thought with a sigh, crouching down as some sort of rug being carried by a pair of vendors interrupted her less-than-convenient path. The weather was much more temperate than it was last night, and much of the dew from yesterday's rain had dried up under the morning sun. That, and the pumpkin bread smelled especially good today. That, or she was just very hungry.

As she stood up straight once more after coming out from other the rolled-up carpet, a splatter of black drew her attention as she carried on down the street. It was an ominous void against the vibrant mural of the Vesuvian crowd, sticking out like a sore thumb in her eyes. 

' _Julian?_ ' she realised, as what looked like a raven that was perched on the good doctor's shoulder cried out. His droopy, gray eyes focused on hers, alerted by what she assumed was his familiar. She noted he looked particularly dishevelled, even more so than how he looked leaving her last night. Remnants of a dried up scab painted his hairline where she'd cracked an old wine bottle over his head the night before. She watched as he startled and darted off into the crowd and down an alleyway, her face undoubtedly looking as shocked as his had. Oh well, no use going after him. She had no desire to speak with him anyways; she had no time. She started off again, staring off to where he'd disappeared as she jogged along-

" _Hey-!_ "

Amalthea suddenly was cast to the floor amongst a smattering of red pomegranates, smashing down onto the pavement with a sickening ' _splat!_ '.

And all over the woman who she'd crashed into as well, the dark, red juice staining her white tunic. 

There was a beat in time where the two just stared at one another, unsure of how to proceed as a small circle formed around the scene. Many of the fruits had been dashed across the pavement: inedible. The rest were definitely bruised, along with Amalthea's right elbow that had managed to take the brunt of the fall. 

"I am _so_ sorry, I didn't even see you there-!"

The ginger-haired woman stopped abruptly, gazing deep into Amalthea's eyes as if she were drinking in her features, her freckled brow creasing in thought as she did.

"It's my fault, I wasn't watching where I was going," she uttered, choosing to ignore the other lady's weird look that continued to stray over the rest of her. "I can pay you back for the fruits, I'm really sorry."

"Are you the magician?"

"I- what?"

A strange chill overtook her. Who was this woman and why did she know her profession? Or her soon-to-be-profession, rather? And why was she still looking at her like she was examining a gift horse?

"You're Amalthea, the Countess is expecting you," she said, almost as if it were an accusation as she rose to point at the apprentice.

Another spike of what Amalthea recognised as slight fear coursed through her veins. 

"Oh dear Gods, I'm scaring you; I'm Portia, I work at the Palace, that's how I know all 'this'," she explained hurriedly, waving her hands in the air before offering one to Amalthea. "I probably should've led with that!" she half-giggled.

Amalthea joined in with relieved laughter as she took Portia's hand. Briskly, Portia dusted off her vermilion apron that hung about her waist before gathering the remaining pomegranates from the ground.

"Oh, thank goodness, that's one of the weirdest things to happen to me this week." she smiled cautiously, bending over to help. 

"I can imagine," she breathed as the last pomegranate was placed into her lap, cradled by the pocket she'd made by bunching up the fabric before she dropped the bundle off into the crate they had initially been held in.

"Ah, I shouldn't trouble you any longer..." Amalthea said, subtly trying to pry herself away. She was _so_ going to be late, and the servant clearly had work to do-

"Oh no, not at all!" Portia replied brightly. "You're on your way to the palace, right?"

"Oh, um-" she stammered, having planned on slipping away without saying much more.

"You're- Oh dear, you're gonna be late if you're not careful,"

"Oh, I can get there, I'll just hurry," Amalthea said, waving off her concern, "I don't want to keep you."

"You won't be!" she said, taking the apprentice's hand. "I'm on my way there too."

"Are you sure?" Amalthea asked, but without much of a reply, she took off, leading her down a series of side paths and alleyways. Amalthea startled as she did, blindly trusting that Portia was in fact who she said she was as she was dragged down unknown paths while her guide spoke about something she probably should pay attention to.

"Of course!" she said finally. "Sorry, it's just we're cutting it close on time. If we're going to get there we need to hurry."

Amalthea gave a pathetic 'oh,' as she followed. The pair barrelled through an abandoned display of odd knick-knacks laid out on a tattered cloth, a rusted spring skittering across the wobbly pavement in the aftermath, nearly causing the white-haired woman to trip as Portia's hand trailed behind her in a subtle offer. In a fumbling moment, she took it, praying that the clamminess of her hands wasn't too noticeable. 

"We've all sort of been waiting for this kind of," she said, taking a hidden corner almost a little too quickly. "I'm glad we've found someone to help, you know."

"Y-you are?" Amalthea asked, following closely behind the handmaiden. She was shocked to hear something so forward from the almost-stranger. 

"Of course!" Portia answered, "I feel like you're a good fit, too. I mean, there's some stuff that's been bothering my lady for some time, and the court by extension too."

Amalthea hummed in response. Pale green creeper vines descended the walls that corralled them down their path, reaching for the floor and brushing against her ever so slightly. She knew that if the Countess was calling on her it had to be something important, but hearing the vague words out of Portia's mouth made her feel like she'd bitten off more than she could chew.

"If you don't mind me asking; what sort of problems is the Countess hoping for me to solve, exactly?" she muttered, so as to not be heard by the stray passerby that occasionally slid past them as they walked. She immediately regretted asking, wondering why she even asked a servant of all people what was going on. She might not even speak with her again after this.

"Did she not tell you?" Portia asked, almost sounding surprised as she peeked around a corner to check for traffic. Her pomegranates were held securely against her hip.

Amalthea's mind reeled. Why had she thrown out her response as soon as she doubted herself?

"She mentioned dreams, which I'm guessing have something to do with it, but not much else. I would've asked, but, y'know. The Countess was in my shop and I couldn't really think straight," she gushed after a line of silence that had gone on for almost too long. 

Portia laughed at that, smiling. "I know what you mean. She has a... strong presence." 

She turned back to briefly face Amalthea. "But you are right, she's been having prophetic dreams and other strange things happen to her since she's awoken. But I'm afraid you'll have to wait for Nadia herself to tell you the rest. Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise, you know." she said coyly. "Or get in any trouble, either." she added a little less joyfully, despite how much she'd already shared. Amalthea shrugged it off. 

' _Nothing else to do but wait,_ ' she supposed, checking her waist to make sure her purses were still secured to the leather belt around her hip. The satisfying mix of satiny and fuzzy fabrics rubbing against her fingers soothed her as the path she and the freckled young woman were taking slowly opened up more and more. A decent amount of sunlight was streaming down onto the pale cobblestone. Amalthea swore it almost sparkled from how clean it looked compared to the pavement of the marketplace, or even the road outside the shop. 

"We're getting closer," Portia announced as they finally broke off onto what looked like a main road. The street was lined with lavish properties, each one having looming gates and fences surrounding the towering houses that could've been considered palaces in their own right. Workers dotted the curbside, incessantly sweeping muck and whatever was dropped in the road down into the sewers. Shining glass windows that looked like they belonged in a temple blinded the apprentice as they kept up with the handmaiden's vigorous pace. 

Slowly, the mansions and lavish townhomes became fewer and far between as they continued down the lavish road, the gilded lamps shining in the late morning light as they passed by. 

"I hope this isn't an awkward question or anything," Amalthea said, breaking the silence she felt had permeated for too long, "But I was wondering how you recognized me earlier."

"Oh, that's not a weird thing to ask," Portia replied, cheerily as always, "I'd be freaked out too, to be honest, if somebody just randomly started calling my name out." she giggled, Amalthea timidly joining her.

"But I know you because of how close I work with the Countess," Portia explained, "I'm her handmaiden. I work personally with her, and we're pretty close because of it. Or at least, I think we are. I'm pretty sure we are." she trailed off, a short finger going up to pick at her lip in thought. 

"She's... thought of me before? Or dreamed?" Amalthea asked, ignoring the slight tangent Portia had traipsed off to. 

"Oh yeah, sort of. Said she kept seeing someone matching your description and that she felt like she needed to see you." Portia nodded, before leaning in close to Amalthea's ear, standing on the tips of her toes to close the distance.

"Between you and me, she was very excited that she'd found you after all this time. Said you matched her vision to a tee."

"Huh," Amalthea said, prickles of pink threatening to show on her pale cheeks. The warmth of the handmaiden's breath still tingled on her ear as she willed the sensation away. The idea of the Countess giddily recounting her meeting with the apprentice almost sounded fake. Cynically, she prayed Portia wasn't playing some sort of joke on her.

"Right? So strange, but I suppose you'd be used to that since you're a magician and all. Or, a magician in training. Sorry."

"Oh, it's fine," Thea chuckled quietly, "Honestly, at this point, I'm not even sure what I should call myself anymore."

Portia seemed to roll her words around in her mind, figuring out the right way to phrase her next question. A rather nice looking carriage passed them by on the opposite side of the street, casting up drops of water from the gleaming stones. 

"So what do you do for a living? I mean, I know you're a magician, but like, are you the performing kind or the 'calling on the forces of the beyond' type?"

"What?" Amalthea giggled.

"What's your magic-field I guess is what I'm asking," Portia explained, stifling back her own laughter as well as the wording of her question set in. "God, sorry, I'm sorry, I just really have no idea what I'm talking about here."

"It's fine, nobody's really asked me that before, so we're both kinda clueless I suppose." she smiled back. 

"I guess to start I do the whole 'contacting the powers'- er, what did you call it?" she started.

"I don't really remember, I think something to that liking." Portia shrugged, soft face still upturned in an interested smile.

"Okay, but I do read fortunes. Or I kind of do. I can't just do my thing and immediately know everything that's going to happen again, but it's more like I get answers to questions rather than telling people's futures. Anyone who says they can is probably lying or is really expensive."

"Or both," Portia added, to which Amalthea agreed.

Portia glanced back at Amalthea as they continued down the main street at a leisurely pace, nodding for her to continue. 

"I can do other little things too, stuff every spellcaster knows. Things like fire and wind conjuration, stuff with plants like making them grow faster, light spells, illusions, and manipulation spells."

"Manipulation?" Portia asked, sounding mildly concerned.

"Like making stuff float, nothing mean," she flicked her hands in front of her defensively. "Stuff under five pounds is easy, if it gets bigger then it gets more complicated, which basically could apply to anything... which you could probably figure out, sorry..."

"No, I had no clue. It's all very new to me. Kind of. I mean, I know about magic just not _about_ magic, y'know?"

"Oh, yeah, hah," Amalthea relaxed. "That was me, like, three years ago, so, I understand completely."

Portia seemed to nod along distractedly, the conversation obviously dying as Portia regained her bearings. Her red curls bobbed as she swivelled her head, looking for familiar landmarks as the incline of the road increased little by little. Amalthea ran her tongue over her lips to try and combat the chapping that had begun to cling to the soft skin. 

"Should be there soon by the looks of it, up this hill's where the gates are," she pointed, earning a solemn hum in response. "We'll be right on time, too."

"Guess I'm lucky I ran into you there, huh?"

Portia let out a slight laugh. 

"I guess so."

As they summited the hill, the great, shining vision of the Palace Gates rose over the horizon. The fencing seemed to continue on forever in either direction, as patches of green gardens served as a buffer between the opulent properties of the Heart District that appeared to lean towards the Palace grounds in order to see the activities inside. Guards lined the streets even more than before as Portia carried on, completely unbothered. It made sense; she'd probably 

Amalthea had never once been so close to the Palace before. She and Asra never wandered this far into the Heart District, there just seemed to be no need, but just seeing its glistening walls from afar was enough to let her know that she had been missing out all these years. Not to mention the beautiful fountains and rolling gardens that threatened to poke through in little slivers of color through the elaborate stone walls. She wondered if she'd ever been this close to the palace before she lost her memory. Perhaps she even worked there at one point and simply didn't remember, though that seemed entirely unlikely. 

"Pretty, isn't it?"

Portia's bubbly voice drew her out of her trance. Still, the light reflecting off of the grandiose window panes of the Palace dazzled her. 

"Oh, very," she breathed.


End file.
